My Sister Wanted Me to Take the Blame for Her？

I opened my eyes inside the sterile chamber when I was seven years old.

Mom had held my hand, staying by my side for seven days and seven nights, crying until her eyes were raw and swollen.

She said I was her miracle, bought with her own life.

At eighteen, I was deathly ill, confined to my bed.

Dad secretly signed the consent forms and wheeled me into that blindingly white lab.

That night, his hair turned completely white.

I always believed I was their everything.

Until I turned twenty-five. That's when I stumbled upon another girl's file in the research institute's system.

Her genetic sequence was identical to mine.

Her file stated:

"Donor healthy. Perfect match. Target family satisfied."

I confronted my parents. They knelt under the fluorescent lights, hands clasped, tears streaming down their faces.

Mom cried out the other girl's name, saying she was finally healthy.

In that moment, I understood.

I was just a manufactured replacement

As Mom and Dad embraced that girl, the light fell perfectly on her face

It was identical to mine.

And Mom's expression held a tenderness I'd never seen directed at me.

She kissed the girl's cheek softly and whispered,

"The replica is ready."

"We can replace every single one of your failing organs with hers whenever necessary."

"So Rosie, you have to stay strong. You have to live."

Her voice trembled, like the most devout prayer.

Through the glass, I saw the girl on the bed.

She looked younger than me, skin pale, breathing shallow, like a porcelain doll that could shatter any second.

The girl nodded obediently, just like I used to, curled up in Mom's arms.

The year they found me, I was terrified. Afraid that one wrong move would make them send me away.

To pull me out of that darkness, to help the frailest version of me survive, Mom and Dad poured all their love into me.

When I was seven and my organs started failing, they begged hospital after hospital to find replacements for me.

They never gave up, even after dozens of rejections.

Finally, Dad signed an experimental protocol, offering his own heart as a temporary donor bridge, snatching me back from death's door.

He nearly died on the operating table himself.

Mom collapsed three times in the hallway

But now

Dad spotted me first and stepped out of the isolation room.

He grabbed my arm, pulling me towards the ward.

I resisted. His grip tightened instantly. His face was calm, but I caught that flicker of impatience in his eyes.

"Chloe," he started, his voice strained, "you're just starting to get better, you shouldn't be"

I yanked my arm free.

Tears welled up instantly.

"Are you scared I'll get sick? That I won't be able to donate my organs to heron schedule?"

Dad froze. A flash of guilt crossed his face.

The girl in the room coughed weakly, then threw off her covers.

Barefoot, she ran to Dad, her face almost translucent with weakness, yet she stubbornly planted herself in front of him.

"Sis," she pleaded, her voice thin, "please don't be mad at Daddy, okay?"

Mom panicked, rushing forward to scoop her up, her own voice shaking. "Rosie! The floor's freezing! Get back to bed!"

Then she turned to me. Her eyes held a wariness I'd never seen before.

As if, in that instant, I had become the stranger she needed to guard against.

Looking at the girl, my chest tightened so much I could barely speak:

"If you're her parents then who am I? Who is she?!"

Dad sighed, rubbing his temples.

"Chloe," he said heavily, "we never meant for you to find out like this."

Mom and Dad exchanged a look. It was Dad who finally spoke.

"You're not our child."

"You're Subject 27. A replica we commissioned twenty-five years ago, using Rosie's genes, to save her."

"Out of a hundred embryos only you survived."

The world went white.

Once, Mom and Dad told me my name meant "Bearer of Hope."

Now I knew.

The hope I bore was always meant for someone else.

After Rosie's existence was out in the open, Mom and Dad stopped hiding her.

The atmosphere at home shifted completely.

My former princess bedroom now belonged to Rosie.

Everything I'd loved inside had been thrown out by her.

Including the porcelain family portrait we'd made together.

I still remember them holding me, looking at that perfectly crafted statue, saying happily,

"Mom and Dad will love Chloe forever."

"We'll always be the happiest family!"

Now, that portrait lay shattered on the floor, as broken as my heart.

Dad, who'd always been so gentle with me, hesitated when he saw me kneeling, picking up the ceramic pieces. A flicker of pain crossed his eyes.

But he shook his head and said to me.

"Subject 27, Rosie is home now. It's time you learned your place."

I was banished to the storage room.

Mom hovered outside, looking conflicted. "Are we are we being too harsh on Chloe?" she asked Dad softly.

Dad hesitated for a moment, but before he could speak, a sharp cry came from Rosie's room.

They forgot me instantly, rushing to her side.

Rosie was on her bed, clutching a fluffy teddy bear, sobbing.

Mom panicked, rushing to hold her. "Rosie! Sweetheart, what's wrong? Did Subject 27 put something on the bed to hurt you? Is she trying to get back at you??"

Dad erupted. "I knew it! A cheap replica is still just a replica! So vicious at such a young age! Who knows what she'll become!"

Rosie shook her head, putting on her best innocent face. "No, Daddy, don't blame Subject 27. She didn't mean to hurt me, I'm sure."

"I just had a nightmare that you didn't want me anymore. That you only wanted Subject 27"

She dissolved into tears again, the picture of wounded fragility.

"Mommy, Daddy please don't send me away You've had twenty-five years with her, but I had to struggle all alone for so long."

"But I want parents too! I'll do anything, I'll even be Subject 27's servant, just let me stay I missed you so much"

Her words tore at Mom's heart. Mom held her tight, tears streaming down her own face.

"It's Mommy's fault. I gave all my love to that replica."

"I promise you, Rosie, from now on, Mommy loves only you. No one will ever take your place."

Dad made a solemn promise beside her.

He glared towards the storage room, resentment burning in his eyes, as if I had stolen Rosie's life.

Huddled in the storage room, I felt like a rat in a sewer, peeking at someone else's perfect life.

But once

I was the child they cherished!

My heart clenched with fresh pain.

As a stand-in, a copy... don't I deserve love either?

Just then, the door was kicked open.

It was Mom.

She viciously yanked the teddy bear from my arms.

"You don't get to keep this! It upsets Rosie!"

Then she took my cot away, throwing down a few newspapers on the cold floor.

"This is what you owe Rosie! It's time to pay her back!"

I hugged my knees, curling up on the icy floor.

The tears wouldn't stop.

But Mom

That bear was my tenth birthday gift from you.

You held me then and said,

"Chloe's my good girl. When Mommy is away on business, Mr. Bear will sleep with you, just like Mommy does"

That night, I was so cold. So hungry.

Curled on the floor, I cried until there were no tears left.

I wished so hard that I'd wake up and find this was all a nightmare.

That outside the dream, Mom and Dad still loved me

Six AM. The door slammed open.

I jolted awake, heart pounding.

Mom stood there, her face cold. "Get up. Time to help Rosie get ready."

I pushed myself off the floor, my body aching.

Mom watched me, not like I was a person, but like I was malfunctioning equipment.

When I entered Rosie's room, sunlight streamed through the large windows. She stretched lazily in her silk robe, a smug smile curling her lips when she saw me.

"Subject 27," she commanded, "come rub my shoulders."

Knowing my place, I obediently reached out.

My fingers hadn't even touched her when she suddenly threw herself to the floor with a shriek.

Mom and Dad burst in. Without a word, Dad backhanded me across the face.

Rosie wailed beside them, clutching Mom's hand. "Mommy, please don't blame Chloe! It's my fault! I took her things She didn't mean to push me"

My head spun. Blood trickled from my nose.

Dad glared at me with pure hatred. "See? Replica trash! Born bad! If you bitch weren't needed for Rosie's transplants, we'd have scrapped you years ago!"

Mom looked slightly uneasy. "Honey, that's a bit much. We did raise her all these years Rosie isn't hurt. Just make her clean this up and get on with her chores."

Dad reluctantly backed down, though his anger still simmered.

Only I saw the flash of pure, venomous jealousy in Rosie's eyes when Mom intervened.

It vanished the instant Mom turned back to her.

Breakfast was ready. Mom glanced at me, sighed, and hardened her resolve. "You messed up, Chloe. Clean this properly before you eat."

I didn't argue. I bowed my head obediently, kneeling to wipe the marble floor inch by inch.

A tiny, foolish hope flickered inside me.

If I was good really, really good maybe they'd stop hating me. Maybe they'd love me again?

That hope shattered quickly.

By the time I finished, the table held only scraps. Barely enough to call a meal.

And then a group of doctors arrived.

"Subject 27," one announced, "Mr. Morgan scheduled your routine assessment. Remove all clothing."

Humiliation washed over me.

"Can can I do it myself?" I whispered.

The doctor frowned. "Donor assessments require full access. Don't waste our time."

So I stood there, frozen, as they stripped me bare.

I wasn't a person anymore. I was inventory.

Naked under the harsh lights, cold instruments scanned my body.

Someone made notes on a clipboard. "Muscle mass optimal." "Vascular elasticity stable." "Uterus viable for transplant."

A young intern muttered under his breath, "Damn, this replica's pristine. Shame we can't just use it for"

I clenched my fists, trembling, but didn't dare move.

When it was over, they tossed a sterile drape at me.

Mom walked in, her face blank. "Results?"

The doctor smiled. "Perfect. Ready for harvesting whenever you need."

Mom nodded, relieved. "Good work."

Then she looked at me. Like I was a piece of furniture. Not a trace of warmth in her eyes.